The Match
by carsonfiles
Summary: It’s not a job interview, it’s not an application with essays. It's The Match: your career depends on a computer program. You rank the residencies you want the residencies rank the interns. The computer decides. Set prior to Season 1. Language & ONS.
1. Chapter 1

_**Legal Mumbo-Jumbo**: I own no part of Grey's Anatomy, save for the DVDs and the magazine which I tracked down at a bookstore. And the Dempsey cover of the tv guide, which I didn't find until a week later because every female in the city got to the store before I did. See, if I did own Grey's, I'd have Christina's eyebrows. And Meredith's laugh. And someone else's figure, since I currently have Bailey's. Oh, and I wouldn't have to squint to have Derek in bed with me. The origin of this fic is that I don't think that the writers of Grey's understand the match. _

_Hat tip to samsolace for helping me upload this. And her husband. And if you haven't read every word she has written, you are missing out on some of the most awesome Mer/Der out there. Seriously. Go read it. Now. Don't waste your time on this._

_If you are still reading, then you should know that this story begins the spring before our interns start at Seattle Grace. Which means they are finishing up medical school and trying to figure out where they will be come July. Match information is as accurate as I could figure from the National Match Database. _

**The Match**

_It can make you or break you. It's a placement procedure like no other; it's not a job interview, it's not an application to college or grad school. It means ranking a list of the residency programs you would accept and filling out the applications. And the programs rank the graduating medical school students they will accept. Both sets of rankings are turned over to the computer. What the computer says, goes. By participating in The Match, you are obligated by the results. The computer makes The Match. But if you don't get a match, you have to scramble._

_Scrambling is for losers._

Forget basketball. In your final year of medical school, March Madness means only one thing: The Match. Meredith had filled out application after application to resident programs, with only one thing on her mind: Stay Out Of Seattle. She wanted nothing to do with the city, the ferryboats or Seattle Grace Hospital. Her ranking list was complete and added to the system weeks ahead of schedule. Now it was time for the programs to decide which students they wanted as interns, and soon the computers would put the two lists together. Maybe it wasn't the best system, but it was the system in place. Meredith knew that by March 15, she'd be told whether she would be starting her medical career in Manhattan, North Carolina or Chicago. Far away from Seattle, and far away from her mother. She just had to get through lunch today, and whatever news her mother had for her.

She entered the restaurant and looked around for Ellis, finally spotting her in the back booth. Her mother sat calmly at the table, staring in concentration at nothing. She didn't look up when Meredith approached. Every time she had seen her mother during her time in med school, Ellis had been preoccupied. Not paying attention. She didn't remember this from when she was younger, but assumed that it was because children don't like to think of their parents as worried.

"Hi, mom," she said, "I'm here."

Ellis seemed to pause before looking up. "It's me, Meredith." _Great start there, Grey. 'Cause your mom has so many people who would wander in here and call her mom."_ But for a second, when Ellis had looked up, she seemed to see not her only child, but a stranger.

"Meredith. I'm glad you are here. I have several things I need to discuss with you, and I hope that you will cooperate with what I'm asking."

"What you're asking? Mom, is everything okay?" Ellis had never asked Meredith for anything before. Oh, she'd asked for different behavior, different priorities and maybe for a different daughter altogether, but never for something for Ellis. And Meredith wasn't prepared to give her mother anything.

"Meredith, we can talk later." Ellis and Meredith made their selections from the menu, and when the waiter brought them their food, made sure they were happy and walked away from the table, Ellis decided it was time to talk.

"You and I have not discussed which residency programs you have applied for and ranked in the match. Are you considering a move to Seattle?" Ellis's eyes met Meredith's. In any other circumstance, this question would be a flash-point, the kindling to spark a fight, but whatever was coming, Meredith could tell: it was costing her mother something to ask.

"No, mom. I've applied to hospitals in North Carolina—Duke University hospital and a couple in Charlotte. I've applied to Mt. Sinai and Cornell's program at New York Hospital. And Northwestern Medical, Chicago Hope and if I don't make a surgical program, I have County General in Chicago as well. Their trauma program is one of the best."

"So, no Seattle." Ellis's eyes clouded over, and she looked down and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, she looked back to her daughter. "Meredith, I know your memories of Seattle are mixed, at best. But I'd like you to add hospitals there to your ranking, before the deadline."

Other than discouraging Meredith's ambitions, Ellis had never shown this kind of interest in her career choices. Why now?

"Why, Mom?"

Again, Ellis drew a breath deep. Again, she let it out.

"Because I'm going to be in Seattle. And I need someone there I can trust."

_Well. This is. . .interesting. I never thought that Mom would be going back to Seattle. The memories there are painful for her as well. Sure, she's got the house, but still. . ._

"Where will you be, Mom? Because honestly, I don't think it's in our best interest to be in the same hospital."

"That's not a concern." Ellis bent down, and shuffled through a few papers in her briefcase. "Here's where I'll be." A glossy pamphlet skidded across the table, stopping when it hit the condensation from Meredith's water.

Rose Ridge Extended Care Home. _What?_

"What? Mom?" Meredith gave a slight shake of her head. "This isn't a. . .I mean. . .there isn't much surgery. . .Mom?"

Ellis's mouth was a frieze of angry determination. "I have had the diagnosis for a while. I've had consult after consult. I've been gradually cutting back on all of my duties, and my slate is now clear. There is no surgery in my future. I'm done practicing medicine. By tonight I may not remember this conversation, but for now I have an assistant to remind me. As soon as he gets me to Seattle, he's going to be looking for another job."

"Diagnosis. . ."

"Oh, Meredith, stop being so obtuse. Alzheimers. For me, Early Onset. You know that's what killed my mother, although hers didn't start until much later."

Meredith didn't know. She calculated her mother's age, and compared it to her own. _Thirty years. Thirty years left before. . .unless it came earlier for her. If it came later, she could have longer. Or could she escape being her mother in this detail? Could it not come for her?_

"So, you want me to take you to Seattle and put you in this. . .place thingie."

A wrinkle appeared between her mother's brows. "Surgeons don't say thingie, Meredith. Yes, I would like for you to at least apply for positions in Seattle so that I may return there to die and have the pleasure of your company as I go. Are you sure that your calling isn't dermatology?"

A nervous biting of the lip, and Meredith had made her decision. "Yes, Mommy." If she agreed, there would be some last minute applications, probably all-nighters pulled. She mentally flipped through the list of Seattle hospitals. Mercy West had produced some great cardiac surgeons, Dr. Erica Hahn had come and lectured once for a packed auditorium. _Cardiomyopathy and the Effects of Dopamine on Recipients of Donor Hearts_ or some sexy title like that. Seattle Pres. . .they had a residency program. She didn't know much about it. "But I don't want to go to Grace."

"Meredith, don't be foolish. Don't make a decision like this based on some resentment you have from before you were five. Seattle Grace is the most prestigious surgical residency on the west coast." Ellis's right eyebrow tilted in that "my daughter has no sense" angle that Meredith remembered well from adolescence. "In fact, the new chief of surgery, Richard Webber—you remember Richard, yes?—and I have already discussed. . .or rather, his nurse, Patricia and I talked, well, not specifically, since that would violate the conditions of the match. But he knows you are in the match this year. And that you would like to be in Seattle."

"Really, Mom. Thanks. Could you think that _maybe_ I didn't want to get in anywhere except on my qualifications? That I didn't want my last name to get me in anywhere? I wanted to do it myself? Did you think about that? And telling her I want to be in Seattle?" Meredith's voice had started calmly, but had risen in pitch and intensity until other people in the restaurant started to suspend their own conversations and pay attention to the two honey blonde women.

Now it was Meredith's turn to breathe deep calming air before continuing the conversation. "So. Rose Ridge. And you have taken care of the details of your move. So you want me to show up in July and what?"

"I'm transferring the house into your name, so that won't be a problem. You can do what you want; sell it, live in it, continue to rent it out to residents in the Seattle Grace program. You'll need to be prepared to take on some of the decisions regarding my care, but forgive me if I ask that you not do that too soon. I'd rather not be aware when that happens.

"Rose Ridge has agreed that under no conditions will they release my diagnosis to the media. I want you to promise me, no matter whether you are in Seattle or Charlotte or Manhattan or Lima, Peru that you will not embarrass me by disclosing it either. "

Meredith closed her eyes for a moment. Her mother's life was ending. And what was Ellis worried about? Other people knowing.

"Mom. Why do you want me to be in Seattle? I could do all of that from anywhere."

Ellis looked to the side, to the floor and then up to the ceiling. Anywhere but Meredith's face. She thought of her past, of her husband, her lover, her friends, her colleagues. There was no one else she wanted to trust. There was no one else she could trust. For her, any chance for intimacy was gone.

"Visit me, Meredith. Visit me so I won't die alone."


	2. Chapter 2

San Francisco was cloudy, and she liked it that way. Los Angeles, home of the blonde California Girl forever immortalized in the Barbie and the Beach Boys could kiss her ass. Being a blonde bombshell was so far out of her range she didn't even consider that it was what some people wanted. If she couldn't get it, it wasn't worth getting. Christina chose her post-grad hospitals with the skill and precision she would later use with a scalpel. Her rankings were complete. She had created a short computer script which ranked the programs. Not only did she factor in the prestige of the hospital, but also the number of honors individual surgeons received. The number of surgeries performed per intern, which would increase the odds of her getting her hands on a scalpel. The drop-out rate—higher was better in her opinion. That meant the program was tough. Next, the fellowships offered to residents completing the program. Ok, maybe complex algorithm was more accurate than simple script. She debugged, fed in the data and paused, waiting for the results.

1. Seattle Grace Hospital

Yeah, baby. The one with the hearts. How she loved the hearts. Because the one thing you need to stay alive? A beating heart.

She scrolled down, looking at the rest of her list. Seattle was the only west coast option; everything else was north east. Ish, except for the Miami hospital. Although she hadn't factored in the weather in the equation, she didn't want to spend her surgical residency in the sun. Nope.

She tabbed over to the National Resident Matching login screen and started keying in her choices. Colin had wanted to discuss her rankings, and she would. Sure. But first, she would put them in the system. And he could talk, if he really wanted to be that guy, but she had faith in her choices. And her algorithm.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Practical Song (Supertramp)**

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful,  
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.  
And all the birds in the trees, well theyd be singing so happily,  
Joyfully, playfully watching me.  
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible,  
Logical, responsible, practical.  
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable,  
Clinical, intellectual, cynical.

There are times when all the worlds asleep,  
The questions run too deep  
For such a simple man.  
Won't you please, please tell me what weve learned  
I know it sounds absurd  
But please tell me who I am.

Now watch what you say or theyll be calling you a radical,  
Liberal, fanatical, criminal.  
Won't you sign up your name, wed like to feel you're  
Acceptable, respecable, presentable, a vegetable!

At night, when all the world's asleep,  
The questions run so deep  
For such a simple man.  
Wont you please, please tell me what weve learned  
I know it sounds absurd  
But please tell me who I am.

When she got back to her apartment, Meredith leaned up against the door jamb, concentrating hard on her key ring. _Car. TA office. Mom's house. Don't know. Don't know. Apartment._ Keeping a firm grasp on the key and at the same time, leaning back into the arms and firm body of the man behind her, she unlocked the door and staggered inside. The man's fingers grabbed her waist and guided her to the couch.

"No," she whispered. "The bedroom, the bed." And now she led, by the body, taking small steps as they untangled themselves from shirts and bras and belts and pants and shoes and socks until they were only themselves, only alone, in the bed, with each other to block out whatever had driven them to the bar that night.

Seattle. Seattle. The word drummed through her mind, keeping tempo with what should have been intimate, but was a good way to close off the world. Meredith clenched shut her eyes, and attempted to stay in the moment. Stay focused, stay in her body. But between the tequila, her tension and the stress of her day, she knew that the tipping point was beyond her tonight. _Get it done, get it over, please don't ask to stay. Seattle._

The man was kissing her cheek, and she turned her face away from him so that he wouldn't reach her mouth.

"Oh baby, God, yes, unnnnhhh, yes, baby, unh," When he spoke in his low growl, Meredith was almost revolted. _Unh yourself, mister. You need some help? You like talking? Fine._

"Oh God, you are so deeeep inside of me, oh yes," and to herself, Meredith sounded like a late-night commercial for phone sex. But somehow, that did the trick, and with a shudder, and another flurry of kisses, the man stopped. The sex was over. She gave him a slight push, and he rolled off of her to the side.

"Did you?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes—closed, of course they were closed. _Why do men need this? This scorecard, validation that they are Superlover or something? They should figure out that—for women at least—sex can be good without orgasm, and even if I do come, it can still really suck._

"Yeah," she lied easily. "I need some water." She stood and reached up for her robe, and walked to the kitchen. She pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge, and sat at the table, leaning her forehead against one hand, and using the other to scrape off whatever congealed grossness had been left there at breakfast.

_Go back to Seattle. I was happy in Seattle. Until I wasn't. But I'm pretty sure Seattle was where I was happy last. I can remember being happy there. I think. Dad's in Seattle. But Seattle's a big city, it's not like I would have to see him. He wouldn't know I was there. Is he doing research through a hospital there? Must remember to find that out, I can not match to that one. Way too complicated. But if I can avoid Dad, what's wrong with Seattle? Why not Seattle? _Even though her gut screamed at her not to add Seattle to her rankings, she couldn't figure out why. There was no logical reason. The best illogical one was to avoid her dad. Well, that and that her mother had asked her to. Meredith had to admit that even though Ellis was not the most loving or emotional mother around, she wasn't the most cooperative daughter on the planet either.

_Fine. I'll do it. I'll rank Seattle. As soon as I get rid of this boy in my bed._

**A/N: **This whole fic is backstory, spin-off from "What Do You Hear in These Sounds". Sometimes to write what's happening in the now for the characters, I have to have figured out who they were before. And this is fun, except that Meredith didn't just start being dark & twisty when Addison showed up. Let's face it--women in their 30s who pick up guys in bars for the one-night-stand aren't very self-actualized, are they? Anyway, this story is in the same universe as WDYH, unless at some point that it proves not to be. I have one more chapter written, and the possibility of more if I can. But more of my time & writing will be spent on WDYH, because I think I'm in love with it.


	4. Chapter 4

"MOoooooOOOOOm! Tell him I need the computer!" Georgie was nervous enough without having to fight his older brother for online time. "I need to make sure I've matched."

Even though he was the youngest son at 26 years old, his parents still kept the computer in their den to monitor what their boys were doing online. Georgie was pretty responsible; after all, most of his computer time was spent researching things for medical school. But Jerry and Ronnie? Heaven knew what they would be looking up.

"Give it a rest, Georgie, I'm trying to get this chick to meet me!" Jerry kept typing the Private Message on MySpace, and Georgie leaned in.

"Ok, do you realize that this is a child? A 16 year old?" Georgie was disgusted. "You are a perv, you know that, right?"

"WHAT?? That picture doesn't look. . .oh god. No Jailbait for me!" Jerry quickly logged off of the site, and turned over the keyboard to his brother. "Don't you **dare** tell Mom and dad about this. Or I'll tell them you. . .I'll make something up."

"Whatever, Jerry. Just go take a shower. You stink." Georgie couldn't understand how his brother spent all day in a garage. For fun. From what he knew, both of his brothers would go to junkyards, pickingg parts of cars apart, and then take them to this garage where you could rent space and tools. Strange.

Now that he was at the computer, he didn't want to look. He didn't want to navigate to the Match site, where he'd find out whether he'd been ranked by any of the hospitals he'd applied. Better off not knowing. He knew his MCAT scores; he knew that Seattle University wasn't the best medical program in the. . .well, city. He didn't have the best c. v., heck, he wasn't even sure what c. v. stood for. But he had to check, because if he had to scramble, he needed every ounce of energy and every second of time to do so. Georgie wasn't the best at thinking on his feet.

Dear Mr. O'Malley,

We regret to inform you that at this time, you have not made a match for residency through the National Match Database. Please review the medical facilities which currently have openings, and feel free to contact any of your ranked hospitals as they may yet consider you for their programs.

_Dammit._

"Dammit! Mom, I need the phone!" Although Georgie wasn't great at first impressions, either on paper or in person, he knew this: he grew on people. Even those who seemed indifferent to him, like his medical school advisor, respected him and his abilities after working with him. He was consistent. He had the advantage of being steadfast. Now that steadfastness needed to work for him, and it needed to work for him fast.

But fast didn't always work for Georgie.

**A/N:** _ I am sure that Seattle University is a fine school, but it doesn't have the best medical program in the city. It has no medical program. It's JD—law degree—is probably just fine. Also, I was hesitant to upload this, because there isn't much to it, but I'm about to upload a longer & telling chapter to WDYH. So I hope you can forgive the short chap here._


	5. Chapter 5

George cut himself shaving. Of course he did. It was only the most important day of his career. The one that could end it all, send him back. . .well, not really send him back, because he was already unemployed and living with his folks. There wasn't much further back he could go, not without turning in the sheepskin that was his medical degree, handing over his high school diploma and re-joining the Dungeons and Dragons Club.

No. He wasn't doing that.

He was moving forward.

He picked up his cell phone and replayed the message that he'd saved two days ago. _Just checking_, he told himself, ignoring the self-mocking alter-ego that reminded him that this was the fifth time he'd 'just checked' today.

And his appointment was still today. At 11:00. In the morning.

_Yes, I made sure that it was in the morning. _

_Wouldn't anyone?_

He told the mocking voice not to answer.

The suit was hanging in his closet, the interview suit. The same suit he'd worn as he interviewed for medical schools, and it mostly still fit. It's not like he was a suit-wearing kind of guy, someone who could wear a suit and not look like he was some sort of imposter. No, he was George. George the Dependable, George the Loyal. George the Average.

He took out the shirt—that at least was new—and removed 16 straight pins. He hoped he wouldn't find another (or that it wouldn't find him) in the middle of the interview. He tied the tie—also new—in the same knot his dad taught him when he was 17 years old and taking a date to a nice restaurant. His shoes looked okay, he guessed. _Need a shine. Too late to worry about that._

When he got downstairs, his mom was in the kitchen. No sign of his dad or brothers, and that was just fine with him. He snuck out the front door, and was able to drive his beat-up Rabbit out the driveway without having to go through the "Georgie, you'll do great" portion of the show. _Thank God for the small blessings._

When he got to Seattle Grace, he stopped at the front desk to get directions. He was directed down the hall, up the elevator, across the skywalk and into a smallish office.

_You'd think that the Chief of Surgery would rate something a little larger?_ He introduced himself to the receptionist. _Patricia_. She ushered him into the office, where he was greeted by three men.

_Confidence. And sincerity. Fake those convincingly, and I'll have it made._

"I appreciate your time meeting me today." George had been rehearsing those words in his most mature tones the whole way here. "I'm sure I can be an asset to your surgical residency program and your hospital."

"Take a seat," said the older black gentleman, gesturing to a chair as the rest of them seated themselves. "I'm Richard Webber, Chief of Surgery here at Seattle Grace."

"We happen to have a single vacancy here at Grace, and your application did catch our attention, since you ranked us first on the match. But we have some questions about your application and your record at Seattle University."

And then it began. The questions and answers, testing him. George was able to hold his own, at least he thought, through a large part of the process. The men reviewed his grades, questioning him about each class he had taken. And he had the answers. He remembered his mother defending him to Mrs. Welch, the third grade teacher after a flunked spelling test. _Georgie just doesn't test well._ And that was true; he didn't. George tended to second guess himself when given time. He knew this. But he also knew that whenever he was able to forget his essential Georgieness, he was able to float to the answer. Or the answer floated to him. Either way, he connected with the answer and it worked out for him.

Just as this interview, this essential interview was working. Until the end. Until Dr. Webber pulled out one page from his file.

"Here's your letter of recommendation from a Dr. Collins at Seattle U. However, his letter is actually quite weak. Take a look."

George looked. A scribbled arrow showed him the damning portion.

"At this writing, Mr. O'Malley shows every indication of being a thorough and responsible doctor. With time and maturity, he has every chance of becoming a good surgeon."

_Crap._

"Dr. Webber, Mr. Jennings, Dr. Burke. I'm surprised at what Dr. Collins wrote. Well, you know that, because if I'd known he would write that, I'd have asked someone else for a rec." George enjoyed the moment as the men chuckled at his honesty. "But he's only partly right. Yes, I will be a thorough and responsible doctor. And yes, I'm only 26 years old, just like every other intern walking through those doors will be this summer. And I've made some mistakes, some stupid mistakes that probably led Dr. Collins to this letter. But I am. . .I will be a great surgeon. All I need is a chance.

"Let me prove myself to you. Let me go through this program, show you how I can be the kind of doctor that you need here at Seattle Grace. One who is thorough, who is responsible and dependable and all that—but also one who knows his stuff. Because no one is a doctor on paper—it's when you are with the patient that you are a doctor."

He realized that he was standing up, gesturing with both hands in the small room. He quickly stuck them in his pockets, and began fiddle with the junk stashed there.

"Sorry. Um. I'm sorry, I get carried away." He sat down, and tried to make himself invisible _Things to think about. Prime numbers. One, three, five, seven, eleven, fif—_

"Mr. O'Malley?" Dr. Webber had obviously said the name more than once, trying to distract George from his prime numbers. "Your passion speaks well for you. Much better than this letter."

George lifted his head up from looking at the blues and greens and yellows in the grey carpeting. He saw an encouraging smile on the face of the older man. The other doctor (_Borke? Burke? Dammit_!) still had a skeptical look on his face, but Webber was the one who counted. And Webber was smiling.

"I would be happy for you to fill our empty slot in our surgical residency program. I must warn you—I believe I'm taking somewhat of a risk. Don't prove me wrong."

By some miracle, George did not jump out of his chair. He did not shout, whoop or howl at the moon. He remained calm, and said—in his most mature and time tested voice—

"Thank you so much, Dr. Webber. I'll see that you don't regret this. Thanks." And he shook the hands of all three men, barely hearing Dr. Webbers remarks about getting a letter of confirmation with all of the details. He remembered later, though.

The day his letter and the other information came, George stood at his mailbox, holding the invitation to a Meet and Greet, a chance to get to know the other interns who would be his coworkers for the next six years.

The people who would change his life.

* * *

A/N: I had to write this before I could continue with _What Do You Hear in These Sounds?_ for reasons that should become clear soon. I hope. 


End file.
